Big Day Spoiled for Bangladesh Villagers

By BARRY BEARAK

OYPURA, Bangladesh, March 20
-- Of all the distant villages, in all the
poor countries, in all the third world,
President Bill Clinton was supposed
to visit theirs.

And, sitting on a cane stool under a
150-year-old banyan tree, with songbirds trilling and the press taking
notes, he was to talk with the peasants of Joypura.

It was to be Mr. Clinton's rare
chance to hear from people of the
Bangladeshi soil and, in turn, their
implausible opportunity to rub elbows with a man of global power.

But at the last minute, today's visit
was canceled -- and the villagers,
plucked from obscurity only to be
thrust back again, were crushed.

"It is terribly sad because we were
expecting so much," said Rokeya
Begum, a young mother. "We
thought he would talk to us, and we
would get to know each other. We
thought he would hear our problems
and he would tell us the solutions."

The bad news arrived before dawn
as people were doing the final preening after weeks of preparation. Security was said to be to blame. The
United States Secret Service had decided that the 28-mile excursion from
Dhaka, the capital, by helicopter,
would be dangerous. "We had specific information which led us to conclude that travel to the village was
inadvisable," said Samuel R. Berger,
the White House national security
adviser.

Mr. Clinton also canceled a stop to
the National Memorial where world
leaders traditionally pay homage to
the three million people killed in
Bangladesh's war of independence
against Pakistan in 1971. Despite the
American claims of security problems, Bangladeshis are likely to be
insulted by the perceived slight.

This sudden shift in scheduling
provided an ominous start to the
president's five-day visit to South
Asia. Bangladesh was supposed to
provide an untroubled destination
before the president went on to India,
where he arrived tonight, and Pakistan.

But if Bill Clinton could not go to
Joypura, the Americans enthusiastically counterproposed, Joypura
could come to him. Buses with hundreds of villagers -- mostly women
and children were brought to Dhaka.
The people were happy for the journey, but it was not the same.

In the last few days, 10,000 people
had flooded into Joypura -- four
times the village's population. It was
simply amazing for them all to imagine the president of the United States
actually among them, walking beside the haystacks and the cow sheds
and the duck ponds.

"I am so sad now," said Alam Ali,
who was using a crowbar to tear
down a modest grandstand that had
been built near the banyan tree.
"This whole area would have grown
rich. Bill Clinton could have made
this happen. He is a very great man,
you know."

The president is presumed to be
the bearer of the magic wand of
American wealth. And, indeed, before the day was over, he announced
several aid packages to Bangladesh,
including $97 million for food and $8.6
million toward the reduction of child
labor. People in Joypura seemed to
believe that he would hear their
hopeful words and see their hard
work and come away determined to
rescue them from the undertow of
poverty.

Muhammad Yasin Sheik, 45, had
trekked from a nearby village, holding the useless deed to his perished
land. Last year, the mighty Jamuna
River had changed course and swallowed his farm. He hoped that Mr.
Clinton would take pity and give him
money. "We are starving," he said
plainly. "Bill Clinton can do something about that."

Unlike most others, who spoke
only Bangla, Mr. Sheik knew some
English. He pointed to the white
prayer cap on his head, showing he
was a religious man.

"We always pray to Allah that Bill
Clinton remains in good health," he
said eagerly. "And we also pray that
his wife, who is in an election, wins a
great victory."

Joypura had been selected for the
president's first visit to Bangladesh
because there were success stories
here. This is a storm-ravaged nation
of 128 million people with a per capita income of only $289. But the nation's war against poverty is not
without its share of victories -- and
many of them are owed to some of
the world's most innovative strategies.

The Grameen Bank pioneered the
idea of microcredit, small loans given to the poor without a demand for
collateral. The amounts are usually
$200 or less, and they are generally
used to start up a simple home business like as the purchase of a milk
cow.

Grameen began in 1983, the idea of
a Bangladeshi economist, Muhammad Yunus. Today, it has 2.4 million
borrowers, mostly women, in 39,000
villages. The repayment rate is 98
percent.

In 1986, Mr. Yunus was invited to
Arkansas by Bill Clinton, who was
then its governor. He wanted to set
up a similar banking scheme in the
state. The two became friends.

Joypura has several dozen Grameen customers, among them Nasima Akhter, who last borrowed $160
to buy a rice paddy, which she then
sold at a $60 profit.

"I wanted to tell President Clinton
of my success," she said, holding her
7-month-old baby in her arms and
standing in a home with walls of
corrugated metal.

The Bangladesh Rural Advancement Committee is one of the world's
largest nongovernmental organizations -- and it too is busy in Joypura,
starting a school.

The children had been eager for
the president to visit so he could hear
them recite, to watch how they were
the first in their families going up the
staircase to an education. The school
had been scrubbed. A new toilet had
been built with a shiny blue metal
door. It was padlocked, yet unused,
with a virgin urinal awaiting distinguished guests.

"I am very utterly disappointed
that Mr. Clinton will not see all that
we have done for our village," said
Harun ur-Rashid, a gaunt, clean-shaven man. "We have installed
electricity. We have become people
of the world. Mr. Clinton should see
this."

Indeed, it is Mr. Clinton's loss, for
Joypura, like most Bangladeshi villages, is stunningly picturesque. The
trees are what make these hamlets
so special, the lush mix of bamboo
and palms and mangoes and banana.
Gauguin would have been inspired
here.

Osman Ghani, a young farmer in a
green shirt and skirtlike wrap garment, was another who bemoaned
the fickle destiny that kept the president away. He had walked seven
miles in the morning to be here when
the big moment arrived. He had
thought of little else for weeks.

"Bill Clinton is the most important
man in the world," Mr. Ghani said
emphatically. "It would been the
most memorable event in my life to
see this great man."

This remark led to an obvious
question. What then instead would
have to serve as unforgettable? The
farmer thought this over until finally
the answer came to him. He looked
at the other villagers at his side as if
they too knew his mind. He spoke
with certainty.

He said, "For me, the most memorable event in my life was the day I
walked seven miles and almost saw
Bill Clinton."